Misaimed
by Kitty O
Summary: Arthur thought that the arrow he shot would hit the boar. Turns out, Arthur was wrong. Will Merlin survive Arthur's bad aim? Merlin whump. No slash. Inspired/prompted by romirola. Two shot, complete.
1. Part 1

**Title: **Misaimed

**Length:** This story will hopefully be a two shot, though it may become three chapters depending on how long it takes me. I think these chapters will be longer than the ones I usually write, but hopefully you will like the story enough to forgive me for making them so long.

**Origin: romirola** messaged me the original idea for this story. There is an episode in an old American western, _Bonanza, _that is called "My Brother's Keeper." While trying to kill a wolf that is attacking their cattle, the older brother accidentally shoots his younger brother… And then the younger brother immediately gets mauled by said wolf, and big brother has to take care of him. The idea was to Merlinify this episode and loosely base my story on what happens in it—loosely, though, because I will be tweaking things. (I will, however, leave out the whiny guest star with a sob story; you are welcome. No one wants to hear some girl talk when they could be reading Merlin get whumped, right?) For those of you who may have seen the _Bonanza_ episode, Arthur = Adam, Merlin = Joe, Gwen = Hoss, Gaius = Pa and the Doc.

**Disclaimer:** That means the basic idea of this story is not mine, but the people's who own _Bonanza_. The idea to Merlinify it is not mine; it belongs to **romirola**. The characters in this story are not mine either, but belong to the BBC, I suppose. Basically, I own diddly squat. Seriously. All I've got is that peach flavored chaptstick. Oh, and an imagination. (I'd rather own Merlin.)

**Rating:** T

**Summary: **(The summary may change if I think of a better one.) Arthur thought that the arrow he shot would hit the boar. Turns out, Arthur was wrong. Merlin whump. No slash.

**Warnings: **Blood, injury, whump. Probably some angst in there. But since it is based off of a TV show, it is NOT a death fic! Yay! I was getting tired of those anyway.

**A/N: No, the author's note part has gone on too long already. Thankfully next chapter won't have all the above information tagged on. Oh, wait, actually, I do have one thing to say: I worked hard on this story, so I hope you enjoy and review. Or don't enjoy and tell me why. Whichever.**

**And thanks to my friend ShadowsBloodPain, who beta'd. **

* * *

><p>Arthur was having a feeling of déjà vu as he walked through the green underbrush, occasionally stopping to glare over his shoulder in irritated superiority. He'd been in this situation a million times before, so much that he had lost count. And one would think that having been in this situation time and time again, he would have come up with an idea to stop it or prevent it from happening.<p>

But short of just murdering his manservant, he really couldn't think of a way.

"_Real_ly, _Mer_lin," the blond prince called back to his scrawny servant, "do you think you could walk any slower? Or any _louder_?"

Merlin, lagging far behind his master, looked up with a grin on his pasty face. He shifted the weight of the pack on his shoulder with one hand, trying to flatten his mussed black hair with the other. In the pack were more arrows, a knife, another knife, an oily rag to clean Arthur's sword properly if he needed it, a rolled up blanket that Merlin had forgotten to leave with the horses, some herbs that Merlin thought were medicinal and therefore useful, a rock that Merlin had thought was pretty, a spare shirt for Arthur (just in case; you never knew with Arthur), and Merlin was pretty sure that in there somewhere was another knife. (Paranoia ran in Arthur's family, and extra-preparedness came with it. Merlin was just paranoid from experience.) Basically, the pack was heavy, and Merlin's shoulders ached from carrying it, even though he switched the weight occasionally from one to the other to make it easier. In his hand was a string of dead rabbits, which he also switched from hand to hand for convenience.

Arthur, Merlin noted inwardly, was only carrying his bow, some arrows, and a sword at his side. Though, to be fair, he was also managing to walk silently in the woods while wearing chain mail. The rest of his armor was back with the horses.

"I probably could," Merlin answered with his usual cross between idiocy, snarkiness, and good humor. "Do you want me to try?"

Arthur glared.

"Fine," Merlin said, backing up with a roll of his eyes. "Prat," he grumbled, and then continued, "This stuff is heavy, you know."

"I know," said Arthur, turning back and walking forward again. "That's why I brought you along on this trip. Now shut up, you're scaring everything nearby."

Merlin sighed and trudged after his master, giving the broad, muscular, metal-covered back a half-hearted glare. "Arthur, why don't we head back?"

Arthur ignored him.

"C'mon, Arthur, you've lost it. We were supposed to go back to the horses the same day we left them… We already spent one day trekking after this creature. What if someone stole the horses?"

"No one stole the horses." Arthur couldn't keep quiet. "We haven't been gone that long. We could make it back in a few hours." Merlin didn't reply to that. They had left the horses the evening before after riding since midday. After walking a while they finally caved to exhaustion and slept, and it was now the next morning. Arthur continued mockingly, "Are you all sore from sleeping on the ground, poor thing?"

Merlin wasn't really offended. It had been years since Arthur's barbs held any real venom. "A bit," he admitted. "And I'm sure you are too. And the horses, back where they are… You're going to get someone or something killed before we get home."

Arthur, who was in truth very stiff, just replied, "As long as that something is the boar we've been chasing."

"It might end up being _me_," pointed out Merlin, who was still more than a "respectful distance" behind his prince and trying to catch up.

"That wouldn't be much of a loss," said Arthur dryly. "It's sounding like a perk right about now."

Lightning quick, Merlin replied, "Don't be ridiculous; you'd hate it. You'd have to haul your own armor."

Arthur's wide grin prevented him from answering with the seriousness he wanted, so he decided to do what he usually did when it looked like Merlin was winning an argument: pull up short, spot something in the bushes, and let the subject be changed. He did just that, but found to his surprise that he actually did see something in the distance.

"Merlin, be quiet!" he hissed.

When Arthur was in a bantering mood or open to negotiation, he told Merlin to 'shut up.' When he meant it, he ordered Merlin to 'be quiet,' and he usually wanted Merlin to be quiet _right that second_, as Merlin had learned. He went quiet, stopping in his tracks.

"There it is!" Arthur hissed, joy in his voice.

_The boar? _Merlin wanted to ask but bit his tongue, still hanging back.

"Merlin, put that down and come here," Arthur ordered quietly. Merlin did as he was told, stepping as lightly as he could (which, considering the amount of sneaking and stalking Merlin was forced to do to protect Camelot in his "secret double life," was actually pretty lightly.)

Arthur pointed to the boar, a big, black, ugly thing with tusks and its snout buried in the ground, snorting and chewing. Merlin saw it and nodded.

"Can you hit it from here?"

"No, and I can't get closer without alerting it. So you, _Mer_lin, are going to sneak around to the other side – far away enough so it can't hear you, and _quietly, _for heaven's sake – and flush it out."

Merlin had been given similar commands before, and he felt dread settle in his stomach. "Flush it out? Towards you?"

"Well, not in the opposite direction, obviously, idiot. Just startle it and it will come running." He patted his bow. "I'll get him."

"What if I make it mad and it attacks?"

"That won't happen."

Merlin looked doubtful.

"Probably," Arthur amended, mostly for the purpose of seeing the color drain from Merlin's face. "Don't worry so much, Merlin. If something happens, I'll be right here."

Merlin's face was priceless.

"Besides," Arthur added, taking mercy, "you have a knife with you."

"Much good that would do against those tusks. They're as long as your sword!"

"You're exaggerating. Now, go, Merlin, before we lose it again and spend another day tracking it."

Sighing, Merlin once more did as his master told him, looking unhappy. He walked off to the right as Arthur watched him move as silently as he could, only tripping occasionally. After a few moments, he disappeared into the thick foliage, and Arthur turned his eyes back to the boar.

Smiling to himself, he notched an arrow carefully and held the bow up, but didn't put his finger on the string yet. He studied the boar as it snuffled its way along, its unsightly mug close to the forest floor. Merlin would probably find the easiest path to it right _there_, where there weren't as many trees. The startled boar probably wouldn't run straight at Arthur, because the bushes were thick. Chances are it would either run to the right or the left… Arthur had no way of knowing which, but he would be ready. His arms tensed and his legs bent, excited.

Wait. Arthur stared at the boar in surprise. It was moving… Walking… It was moving towards him, a little to the right. Arthur's eyebrows rose. He was elated, anticipation pumping through the hunter's blood and driving all other thoughts from his mind. There was the prey. He was the predator. Any second now it would be close enough, and Arthur could shoot it easily. It was coming right to him, he thought gleefully as he latched his finger onto the bow's strong and prepared to fire.

It was getting closer, plodding along. If Arthur had been Merlin, he would have been babbling and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Still closer. Almost there.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. He had to hit its heart, or it would become angry, and then it might actually attack. And those tusks were wicked.

There! It was in range now.

Just a little longer, to make sure he hit it…

Arthur put one foot back. And then a lot of things happened at once. A twig seemed to materialize right behind him, and it snapped, making him jump. Arthur's foot slipped on the twig, and his shoulder dipped as the boar's head shot up. Arthur's fingers, which had been on the string as he aimed, released; a bad shot.

Just as Merlin slipped silently out of the forest and into view, almost next to the boar.

Heaven help him, Arthur's first thought was, _Since when has he moved so quietly?_

His second thought was much more appropriate. _Oh, no. _

"Merlin!" He called a warning, but it was too late for the servant to move.

The misaimed arrow shot through the air with all the power of Arthur's arm carrying it, and then it reached its destination and Merlin cried out. The smaller man jerked, crimson blood exploding into the air as he collapsed onto his back.

The boar was confused by the sound of shouting and yelling and men's footsteps, and it didn't like that. And then a human's body slapped against it as it fell through the air, and that was really just too much for the put-upon glorified swine to take lying down. Wanting to protect itself, it leapt upon the nearest threat, which was lying next to it on the green ground.

Merlin was hot all over and the world was swirling. Pain had exploded in his upper torso and he wasn't sure what was going on; he just knew that he was hurt and the world was fading. Where was Arthur? Wasn't Arthur there? Well, why didn't he do something about whatever was hurting him? Couldn't that prat see he was in need of help?

Then something heavy slammed into his aching chest, and Merlin's wish for Arthur got a lot more desperate. All the breath rushed from his lungs in the form of a pained shout, and Merlin desperately tried to move out from under the weight… What was on top of him anyway? He couldn't breathe, and it was scary. He tried to call for Arthur for some assistance, but nothing came out. A sharp pain erupted in his stomach, and Merlin was aware of more warmth and a stench and yelling as the agony ripped upward into his chest.

_Get it off get it off get it out, _he babbled to himself, and magic surged through him in answer to his plea. His hand flew out, connecting to something solid above him. Merlin's eyesight, which was mostly shadows and blurs now, flashed golden. Suddenly the pressure was gone from his chest, but the pain remained. It was like a storm inside of him, dangerous and destructive, hurting, _hurting…_His vision spun and then everything was black.

Arthur was running before Merlin even hit the ground, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. He saw the boar jump on Merlin, and something like horror made his stomach drop into his shoes, but by the time he reached the scene, Merlin had somehow managed to push his attacker off of him. It rolled onto the ground and tried to get up again, whether to run or attack again Arthur didn't know. But he didn't care.

Whipping out his blade, Arthur killed it. His sword went through the stomach and came out red, and then, just to be safe, he struck the beast in the neck. It squealed before it died.

Red sword in hand, Arthur dropped to his knees beside his manservant. He hadn't seen a sight like this in a long time – perhaps even never – and he could feel the picture burning itself into his eyelids and heart.

Merlin was flat on his back, but his legs were curled under themselves in a position that looked painful. His head was back, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. The shaft of Arthur's arrow stuck into the air like a pole, the head buried deep in Merlin's shoulder. And Merlin was red. Arthur felt his mouth go dry and his stomach twist in a most un-Arthur-like way as he took in all the _red_. A rip in Merlin's shirt showed a red slash across his stomach and onto his chest, and blood soaked into his shirt. Blood also trickled out from under the arrow shaft and rolled "downhill," as liquids did… A thin line of the blood was staining Merlin's ever present neckerchief. Only his brown jacket looked relatively clean.

Arthur felt a sudden impractical wish to close his eyes against the sight. Merlin looked dead, like Arthur's arrow had killed him. If not the arrow, the boar. Arthur's prey. But he was not dead. He was still breathing, though it sounded as if it hurt… And moving his chest probably did. Luckily he was unconscious. Or was that unlucky?

Arthur shook off his thoughts, trying not to feel feelings – trying not to feel horror, fear, self-hatred, pity – as he knelt beside Merlin.

"Merlin?"

No answer. Arthur hadn't expected one.

_I need to do something. _

The slice was still seeping blood.

_He needs medical attention. He needs Gaius. _

Gaius was hours' walk and hours' ride away though, and Merlin's life was bleeding out as he knelt there.

It took Arthur about a minute to make up his mind as to what to do, and while he thought, he cleaned his sword and sheathed it. Years of battle strategy and improvising under pressure all added up: if Arthur hadn't been trying not to be distracted by his friend's blood everywhere, he would have come up with his idea quicker.

Arthur would have to wrap up the wounds as soon as he could in hopes of making the bleeding stop. He didn't want to do that out in the open (who knew what dangers awaited a defenseless, bleeding man out here?), but he remembered a cave not too far back the way they came. Merlin had pointed it out. And Arthur vaguely remembered some kind of running water beside it. Then they would make their way back to the horses and then to Camelot, where the treatment of the injured manservant would pass into Gaius's capable hands… But not the responsibility for what had happened to him.

Arthur tried not to wince. Gaius would not be pleased when he saw Merlin.

_If he even lives that long. _

A new terror sparked in Arthur at that moment. He had realized, of course, that Merlin was hurt and bleeding. He had realized that it was his fault. He just hadn't let it hit him that this time, they might not both make it out of this new situation.

_No. No, Merlin has to make it. He has to. _

Determined, Arthur leaned forward and let his arms snake under Merlin's neck and knees.

"Ready?" he asked, for no real reason. And then he lifted, trying not to jostle the bundle in his arms, but Merlin gave a small moan anyway. Arthur winced as it occurred to him that after that fall and the boar, Merlin might have a broken rib or something, and moving him was probably making it worse.

"Well," he said out loud, "What can I do about it?"

Turning, Arthur started back the way they came, but he didn't make it far. Merlin wasn't heavy (it was actually rather worrisome how easy it was to carry him), but Arthur was having other problems… The bleeding had instantly become worse when he began to walk and the wounds were pulled at. Merlin didn't make a noise, but Arthur knew that couldn't be good for him. Besides, Arthur didn't want Merlin's blood to cover his chain mail or boots. That was a disgusting idea.

_I need to do something to at least slow the bleeding. _

Spotting the pack Merlin had been carrying, Arthur knelt down again and placed Merlin as gently as he could on the ground. Merlin's face immediately twisted in acute pain and a moan came out of his mouth as though jerked out by some kind of hook. Arthur held his breath for a little longer than he needed to and decided not to move the manservant more than was necessary.

Arthur slung the pack over his shoulder, but not before he'd grabbed out his spare shirt and put in his bow. He left the rabbits and the boar. Then he went back to Merlin and settled his expensive shirt, bunched up into a wad, on the younger man's chest. Merlin grimaced and Arthur wondered if he was awaking, but thankfully he was still out. Blood at once began to soak into the shirt, and Arthur pressed down just a little. Merlin's cry made him stop.

"That's the best I can do for now," he said to his servant. "I'll make a better bandage when we get to the cave. It won't take too long."

Merlin didn't make a noise as Arthur picked him back up again, and he didn't make another noise the whole way to the cave. Apparently the shout as the cloth was pushed against his abdomen took the energy he had left.

Merlin might have been out for the count, but the walk to the cave was pure hell for Arthur. Merlin's weight and that of the brown sack resting on his back seemed to double with every step. To make matters worse, though he'd deny it under torture, he began to shake about halfway there. The shock of what he'd done was beginning to wear off, and Arthur found that every step made the scene play out in his mind's eye again: Merlin fell to Arthur's arrow and was mauled by a wild boar, screaming.

Arthur was _scared_. He hadn't been this scared since the time he'd nearly killed his father and didn't quite understand what he'd almost done until he dropped the sword. Usually he didn't worry about Merlin; Arthur had learned that that boy could crawl into the belly of a literal beast and come out smiling, so he spent most of his time worrying about people who weren't as lucky. Arthur had begun to take it for granted that Merlin would always be there. Arthur could fire him, throw him in the dungeons on false charges, and toss things at his head, and Merlin would still come back the next day. Merlin was like a boomerang.

But suddenly Arthur had accidentally snapped that boomerang, and he just couldn't believe that Merlin could bleed to death out here in the woods with just the prince to witness it.

Indeed, it was a very terrified man, though one that was holding himself together well, who made his way through the green and brown trees in search of a cave with a wounded man in his arms. It felt as though they were the only two people in the world right then, and Arthur didn't like it. Because he knew he was completely incapable of dealing with this by himself. And Merlin wasn't going to be much help.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

If someone had asked Arthur how he managed to make it to the cave without falling, he wouldn't have been able to answer. If that person had asked how he managed to clear away leaves and dirt with just his feet while holding Merlin as still as possible, he wouldn't have been able to answer that either. If that person had asked how he managed to get Merlin's jacket and shirt off without hurting the man too badly, he would have told them to shut up, stop asking questions, and let him get back to nursing the injured Merlin.

Somehow he did all that, though. The bleeding had begun to slow. Arthur used his hands to cup water from the miserable little excuse for a stream and splash the excess blood away from Merlin's chest at first, and then he untied Merlin's neckerchief and soaked up the water, wringing the cloth onto Merlin to wash away the blood.

There were three spots that Arthur took notice of: the slice from the tusks of the boar, the arrow buried in his shoulder, and the discolored spot over a rib on his right side. He knew what the first two were, but not the second, not for sure. He began to push down, not too roughly, on Merlin's other ribs, wondering what exactly he was looking for. A reaction from Merlin? A give in the bone? Both?

Neither happened until he reached the bruise. He put two fingers on Merlin's sweaty and warm skin, pushing down. No give, but Merlin gasped and then hissed through his teeth. Arthur's eyes went to Merlin's and he found to his surprise that the man was awake.

"Merlin!"

"It's not broken," Merlin informed him before looking around with bright eyes. "Where am I?" he asked in a raspy voice. "What happened?"

"The cave we passed," Arthur told him. "Are you thirsty?"

Merlin grimaced in pain and looked at him with bright eyes. "What happened?"

Arthur gathered the same courage he'd used to keep climbing up a sheer wall in armor while being chased by giant spiders. "I shot you."

Merlin just nodded, and Arthur decided he probably wasn't all the way awake.

Arthur glanced at the wet neckerchief, the blanket and knife he had put out, and then Merlin again, and he knew what he had to do next. He'd just hoped Merlin wouldn't wake up for it.

"I need to take the arrow out of your shoulder," he managed to say, voice void of emotion.

He took his spare shirt (which was now a horrible shade of red almost all over) and placed it loosely around the arrow, hoping it would catch the blood that would probably well up. He looked at the arrow and his nerve shook a bit, but he ignored the voice in his head that said he'd do more harm than good. He reached for the arrow, but Merlin's voice stopped him.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Merlin accused in a croak, looking almost amused, which proved he was only partly aware.

Arthur nearly laughed. Then he focused again. It had to be done.

He placed one hand on the cloth, palm flat against it. He wrapped his other hand around the shaft of the arrow and then prayed that the head of the arrow wasn't broken; heaven knew he'd be unable to dig it out. He licked his dry lips and rather tentatively began to pull.

The rhythm of Merlin's chest speeded up drastically as Merlin spoke, much sharper now. "No, Arthur, that hurts!"

Arthur's hands jerked away from his hurt servant like he was burned.

"Sorry, Merlin," he said after a second. "We don't have a choice." That might have been the first time he ever seriously said the s-word to Merlin, but neither took note of that.

Arthur looked around and then went to the blanket, using the knife to cut off a strip. Merlin watched him with wary eyes. The prince then rolled the strip up and offered the folding piece of cloth to Merlin. "Bite on that," he ordered.

Merlin's eyes went wide as he understood. "No…" he mumbled. "That hurts. Don't pull it out, Arthur."

"Bite on it."

"I…"

"I'm your prince, and this is an order." Arthur's voice was cold and deadly, and Merlin nodded slowly, letting Arthur put the piece of blanket in between his upper and lower teeth. He bit down, his stomach turning in fear. This was going to _hurt_.

Arthur wiped sweaty palms on his pants and took hold of the arrow again. Merlin winced and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Knowing that waiting for the pain was probably as bad as feeling it, Arthur didn't hesitate. He steadily pulled up on the shaft, as near to the head as he could get, trying not to jerk the arrow or yank. That would definitely make it worse.

Merlin's body gave a spasm and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but he didn't make a sound. He clenched his teeth together, and Arthur winced, knowing he was hurting badly.

Arthur felt the arrow give a bit. Merlin sucked air in through his teeth as the weapon came out of his shoulder, and then he sagged in relief. Arthur felt his muscles relax when he realized he held the full arrow, and nothing remained in Merlin's shoulder. He wouldn't have to go digging around in his friend's flesh.

"Good, Merlin," he said with a sigh. He wanted to tell his servant that he was being very brave, but the words sounded funny and fake when he tried them. Still, he forced them out, knowing that would comfort him if he were the injured one. Merlin was very different from his master, but a man was a man, right?

It was probably not even midday yet, but Arthur found that he wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep for about fifteen hours. But Merlin didn't have that kind of time.

Swallowing, Arthur began to soak up the new blood with the shirt. He squeezed water onto the wound, knowing he wouldn't be able to clean it better until he reached Camelot. When Merlin didn't complain about Arthur putting pressure on his injury, Arthur looked and saw that Merlin had slipped under again. Probably for the better.

Arthur took the rolled up, saliva-coated cloth from Merlin's mouth and discarded it, and then he turned away from Merlin and took the knife in his hand, cutting long strips out of the blanket. It would become makeshift bandages. If Merlin had been awake, Arthur would have made a comment about it being _Merlin's_ blanket that was being torn up. But he wasn't, so Arthur didn't bother, just focused on his work. Unfortunately tearing blankets was much too mindless for him. It was hard not to focus on Merlin and his injuries, and not in the doctoring way, but the _I-might-have-killed-him _way.

Guilt bubbled up in him.

He pushed it down.

It came right back, so Arthur just ignored it. He was good at ignoring things, anyway. Eventually he would probably have to deal with what he'd done, but not yet. Now he had better things to do.

_Gaius will be so angry with me. _

Arthur smiled, but he wasn't amused. Gaius would probably kill him, prince or no. And he didn't deny he would deserve it. _Why_ hadn't he remembered that Merlin would be approaching the boar too? Why hadn't he looked closer before he shot? Why had he ignored everything he'd ever learned about safety while using a bow and arrow?

Why did he have to learn his lesson the hard way?

_Don't stew on it now. Plenty of time when Gaius is murdering you_.

Arthur gathered the cloth in his arms and turned back to Merlin. He was still unconscious, and his face was pale as a ghost's, sweat standing out everywhere. But that was not the right way to be thinking.

First, Arthur lifted Merlin's arm and tried his best to tie a strip around his wound. Blood seeped through it, and he added another two layers. It looked clumsy and awkward, but as long as it held, Arthur didn't care. He moved onto the deep cut on Merlin's stomach and chest. That was even trickier. It wasn't bleeding as badly as before, but Arthur didn't want to leave it open to the elements for fear of infection setting in before they reached Camelot. That would probably spell death for Merlin, and that was unacceptable. Eventually Arthur put a strip over the wound and tied it down with three different strips, one on each end and one in the middle. That in itself was a task, because the wounds stretched when Merlin moved, and the sleeping Merlin whimpered. But at last it was done. Over the whole mess Arthur draped Merlin's brown jacket.

Arthur went out, washed his hands and chain mail as best he could from Merlin's blood, drank from the stream, and then wrung fresh water from the mostly-clean neckerchief into Merlin's mouth. The man sputtered but swallowed.

Arthur patted Merlin awkwardly on the head, ignoring the perspiration that made his dark hair slick. "You aren't going to like this," he warned his friend as he slung on the pack again, stuffing some of the leftover strips of cloth into it before he did so.

Then he put his arms under Merlin again and stood, his thigh muscles flexing and complaining that they were being overused. Arthur ignored them, as well as his arm muscles, which weren't crazy about having to carry Merlin again.

_No choice, _thought Arthur. _Again. _

He went out of the cave, leaving Merlin's old shirt and his spare, ruined one behind. He kept the neckerchief though. Merlin was attached to those things. Then Arthur started for where the horses were left, feeling very small in a very large forest with an even smaller and more vulnerable man in his arms. Only a few more hours of walking.

_A few more hours? There's no way I can make it…_

But somehow, he did. It felt like walking through fire with knives digging into his legs. His arms ached and shook so badly from exhaustion that Arthur feared Merlin would go tumbling onto the ground and probably receive more injuries. Still he made it to the horses, sweat pouring off of his body and Merlin's deadweight heavy against his muscles.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

When Merlin had woken up, he really wished that he hadn't. He hurt all over… His chest burned and his shoulder felt like someone had stabbed it… Had someone? He'd obviously been in some kind of accident or attack, but he couldn't remember a thing. And then he'd seen Arthur leaning over him.

"_I shot you,"_ Arthur had said.

Merlin had tried to mull over those words and think about them, but his brain had turned to wool… Soft and hard to work through. He wasn't sure what they meant. No matter. Arthur was there. He would take care of things; make everything work out for the best, because Merlin was too hurt and tired to do it.

Only Arthur seemed to think the best course of action had been to take out the thing stuck in Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin didn't agree with that. No, it hurt to have that thing touched… Why didn't Arthur just leave it in? The pain wasn't too bad now. There was no need to make it worse. Maybe Arthur didn't know.

"_No, Arthur, that hurts!"_

But Arthur had wanted to do it. Arthur had wanted him to just sit there and bite down on dark blue, fuzzy fabric and… what? Just ignore the waves of pain crashing over him?

Merlin had done it, and he had done it quietly, but only because he was incapable of fighting Arthur on this. He didn't understand why Arthur didn't seem to see how much it _hurt_. It hurt like fire, eating away at his skin and insides, leaving smoking, too-hot-to-touch scars behind. The agony had faded as soon as Arthur was finished, though, leaving him with a feeling of deep relief. And Merlin's consciousness had faded away with it.

It was like he was lying on a bed of black; a little similar, he thought, to what lying in the night sky would feel like. It wasn't a deep sleep, but a strong one. He couldn't have gotten up if he wanted to.

On occasion, he felt twinges of pain, and sometimes the twinges were more like surges. He knew he was moving. He didn't know why. He didn't know what was going on.

Every once in a while he would wake up, just to fade back into darkness and wonder again how he'd gotten hurt.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur had to put Merlin down again when they reached the horses. First he moved the bandages back into better positions, and then he had to step away from Merlin and tie the reins of Merlin's horse to Arthur's horse. As he worked, keeping one eye on his unconscious friend, Arthur had a sudden memory of men riding back into Camelot with a horse tied to another, leading horse, just like he was tying this one. Over the back horse, a dead man was slung, his body jerking with the animal's movements.

Arthur pushed away the thought. _Morbid._

Merlin had woken up briefly when Arthur tried to get him on his horse, and tried to protest weakly against being moved. "Don't," he'd mumbled. "Lie here."

"No, Merlin, we need to get you up on my horse. We're going home."

"_Here," _replied Merlin, turning his face away and resting his cheek on the ground.

"Stop being such a girl, Merlin," Arthur said automatically as he lifted Merlin up again. A strangled noise, partly of pain, but mostly of frustration, burst from Merlin's lips. Didn't Arthur get it? He didn't want to move! Why couldn't he just sleep?

Arthur couldn't believe how his arm muscles screamed at being asked to hold up Merlin's body weight for just a few more moments. Then again, they had been supporting Merlin for hours.

_Hours. _

He needed to get Merlin home. He'd been injured for _hours_, and hadn't Arthur thought when he first saw him that he needed medical attention _immediately_?

He sat Merlin up on the saddle, at which point he passed out again. Arthur wondered if that was a bad sign, and wished he had Gaius here again. Holding Merlin up with one hand and trying to keep the brown jacket from falling to the ground, he climbed up behind the injured commoner. Then he had to find a position for his arms, which was rather difficult. He had to keep Merlin sitting up, while also directing the horse, but he couldn't brush any of the bandages or they'd move and the injuries would probably begin bleeding again. After a moment or two, he managed to get his arms to do as he wished if he kept them tucked under Merlin's arms and straight out in front. If he crooked his arms just a bit, he could keep the brown jacket from falling. It wasn't comfortable, but he could deal with that.

Merlin's head lolled back on Arthur's shoulder.

It just kept getting more and more awkward.

Arthur gave the horse a kick to get it moving. Time to get to Camelot.

The ride was not nice, but then it wasn't much worse than the rest of the day. Not that that was saying much. The horse couldn't move smoothly, and Arthur's sore muscles ached when they were jolted. He tried to keep Merlin as still as possible, but it was hopeless.

Every once in a while, Merlin would wake up, look around with a moan, maybe ask what was going on, and pass out again. Arthur wished he would stop that and just decide if he wanted to wake or not. This was making him nervous... No, more than that, it was scaring him. Arthur wished he at least knew what was causing Merlin to pass out; was it pain, blood loss? The jarring movement? Shock? An unseen head injury? There were too many dangerous possibilities.

The trees got smaller and eventually disappeared, and then they were on a road. That was somewhat easier to ride down. And eventually he could see Camelot in the distance. A familiar spark of joy was lit in his chest. _Home. _

_Home and a real physician. _

He spurred the horse on just a little bit faster, as the last leg of their journey was across a fresh field, empty of any kind of obstacles. The gates of Camelot were there against the sky now, and Arthur felt hope. Merlin was still alive and breathing; Arthur could feel the movement of the man's bare back against his chain mail. Perhaps he would make it through this after all.

Arthur rode through the gate without being stopped. He considered asking the guards for help getting Merlin to Gaius, but that would just slow him down. He would ride his horse all the way to the physician's chambers, and then focus on everything else. He rode through Camelot, the injured Merlin with his barely covered torso ride in front of him. People moved out of the way of his horse, looking up at him with emotions varying from confusion to sympathy. Some of the knights started forward as though to help, but as it turned out, Guinevere was the first person Arthur conversed with.

"Arthur!" she cried, stepping out of the crowd in her flower-covered lavender dress with her dark hair braided down her back. "What happened?" she asked as Arthur stopped his horse. She was staring at Merlin with tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"An accident," Arthur mumbled, but she wanted more than that. "I didn't see him," Arthur clarified, then: "And then the boar attacked him."

Gwen paled behind her dark skin. "Oh, no," she whispered, the flowers in her hands falling to the ground. They were trampled by the crowd.

"I need to get him to Gaius, _now_." Arthur started to ride away, but Gwen put out a hand to stop him.

"No, Arthur… Gaius isn't in Camelot."

She couldn't have brought Arthur more chagrin if she'd slapped him in the face and then punched him in the gut a few times. "What?" he asked stupidly, his heartbeat increasing in rapidity.

"There is an outbreak of some kind in a nearby town… He had to go; he knew how to heal it, he thought. Arthur, he won't be back for several days!"

"Who is taking his place until he's back, then?"

"No one, Arthur," she said quietly. "He left some instructions for small injuries, certain people's medicines, and a midwife is taking care of any births that he'd needed for. It was too sudden to call in a replacement for a few days." There were tears in her eyes. She knew her words were probably Merlin's death warrant.

Gwen pretended not to notice that Arthur cursed heartily when he turned his head away from her. She couldn't catch the words, but she knew it had something to do with the stupidity of the whole situation. The dark-skinned servant girl was inclined to agree, even if she was too meek to speak it out loud.

"Very well," said Arthur, but his voice sounded defeated. He shot a look at Merlin, who was still sitting there with his eyes closed and his skin as pale as Gaius's hair. "Very well… We'll have to… To take care of him ourselves until Gaius returns."

A hard ball of dread settled in his stomach. What were the chances of this happening? Was the world just determined to make sure Merlin died?

There was an almost audible snap inside as he made up his mind. "Don't worry, Merlin," he said as he urged on his horse and Gwen said her goodbyes, starting for the physician's chambers, where she would meet them. If the world thought it could just come and try to brutally yank away one of the only people Arthur cared about, it was mistaken. Arthur would fight tooth and nail for Merlin's life.

If it was the last thing Arthur did, he would make Merlin better. And if he failed… Arthur didn't even want to think about it.

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>

**A/N: There you go, part one. I hope I did well! Please review and tell me what you thought of my work. **


	2. Part 2

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I hope that the second part meets expectations… By the way, anything faintly medical Arthur does in this chapter… Don't try it at home. You'd probably kill who you were trying it on. I know as little as Arthur does :) And I want to thank Alaia Skyhawk for giving me some advice on which herbs and stuff to use. By the way, this is set before the end of Season 3 sometime.**

**Shadows wasn't able to beta this chapter, so it's unbeta'd. Sorry about that. Either excuse or point out mistakes. **

* * *

><p>It was getting dark. Arthur hadn't noticed before, but as he approached the physician's chambers, getting as close as he could on horseback, it got harder and harder to see. The whole world was gray by the time he got to the castle.<p>

Arthur swung his leg over the horse and climbed down, using his arm to keep Merlin sitting up in the saddle.

"You," he called to a nearby stable boy. "Put the horses up," he ordered, not bothering to be polite about it.

"Yes, Sire," mumbled the boy, rushing forward to take the reins of the leading horse.

The prince took the pack off of the horse and slung it around his shoulder, and then Arthur reached up with his other arm and pulled Merlin down off the horse into his arms. Merlin didn't move. Looking up, Arthur saw Guinevere come running up the street, coming to help, and he found a certain relief in the knowledge as he started down the outside hall of the castle and climbed the stairs to Gaius's chambers.

He knew people were watching as their prince carried the manservant with the brown jacket draped over him. He knew they were wondering. He didn't care.

Using his back, Arthur opened the door to the chambers and came in. It looked as he remembered it— tables covered in papers and vials, a place for mixing medicine, stairs in the back leading up to Merlin's room. The only difference: no Gaius. The tall wooden table used as the patient bed was covered in knick-knacks and trash, so Arthur just stood and waited for Gwen's help. He had no place to put Merlin while he waited, but he wished that he did. Sharp pain was shooting up his shaking arms, and Arthur's head was spinning.

_I hope I don't drop him. _

He didn't, but it was a close thing.

Gwen came running in the room, pushing the cloak that she wore over her dress out of the way as she carelessly pushed everything off of the patient bed and onto the ground. Why did Gaius keep leaving things lying about on it anyway?

Arthur put Merlin down on the bed, straightened out his legs, and then sighed in relief. He put his hands on the edge of the bed and let his head sag for a moment. By Camelot, he was _tired_! His eyes closed, and he could have slept right there, standing up, but he couldn't let himself.

The sharp pains went away (but the lightheadedness remained for a bit, and Arthur remembered that he'd only eaten a small breakfast early that morning), and Arthur lifted his head, alert again.

"We're going to need to clean the wounds as best we can," he said to Gwen. "We don't want them to get infected."

"And then what?" asked Gwen as she took off her cloak and put it in the corner.

Arthur took off the pack and dropped it on the ground. "Um… I suppose we'll need to close the wounds."

"You mean… stitches?" Gwen looked faintly horrified.

In that moment, Arthur finally admitted to himself that he had no idea what he was doing. Gwen probably knew too. But it would do no good to just stand there and stare at her helplessly. He stopped himself from shrugging. _I'll have to bluff my way through it. Oh, Merlin will laugh at me when he wakes up…_

"Yes," he told Guinevere. "That's what I mean. I think… if we can just keep them from getting infected, then the wounds aren't life-threatening." He leaned forward and took the jacket off of Merlin's torso. He winced at the mess of makeshift bandages. The blood had soaked through some of them and dried. When he removed them, the bleeding would start up again. But he had to remove them. Didn't he?

"No," corrected Gwen. "Gaius would just bandage it. Not sew it up… Any infection there wouldn't drain that way. I think I remember hearing that once."

"Okay," said Arthur. _So much for bluffing._

"We'll wash them out with soap and water," decided Gwen.

"Honey?" suggested Arthur, vaguely remembering that Gaius had mentioned honey fighting off infection once.

Gwen nodded slowly and drifted towards the shelf which held the medicines. "There has to be some kind of herb… I think I heard Gaius once ask for some…" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "It's on the tip of my tongue."

"We'll have to just start with the soap, water, and honey," Arthur said. "I wish Merlin would wake up… He knew these sorts of things. Guinevere, I'll get the soap and the honey…"

"There are bandages and cloths in that drawer," Gwen said, pointing. "I'll get some water."

"Where are the blankets again?" asked Arthur

Gwen pointed as she left the room, and Arthur went to collect everything. The blanket was easy to find, and Arthur put it over Merlin. It was probably chilly in here for him… Plus, this way, Arthur didn't have to look at him lying there, injured. The soap… he knew where that was… Honey was in a jar over there, if he remembered correctly. Arthur reached for it.

"Sire?"

Arthur turned around to face Sir Leon.

"Sir Leon."

"I heard that you were back from hunting," said Leon. "But you didn't send word to your father."

Arthur gave a small moan. "I forgot," he admitted.

Leon's light-brown hair swished over his shoulder as he turned his eyes to Merlin's form. His forehead furrowed. "What happened?"

"An accident," said Arthur.

Sir Leon looked up at the prince.

"I shot him."

Leon nodded slowly, and if he was shocked, he didn't show it. Arthur was grateful for that. It was hard enough thinking about what had happened to himself. He didn't need to be shocking his knights along with it.

"If there's anything I can do to help, Sire…"

"Just… apologize to my father for me, send word to him now that I've returned. I'll see him when I get the chance. Make an excuse or something. Just now, I can't…" He trailed off and looked towards Merlin. Was it his imagination, or was his face getting paler?

"Yes, Sire," said Sir Leon. "It's getting dark," he added. "Would you like me to light some of the candles?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, thank you." He went back to reaching for the honey, and put it back by the rest of the things he would use to (hopefully) heal Merlin. He didn't see Leon leave.

Turning to Merlin, Arthur said out loud, "Don't worry. We'll get you healed."

Merlin, he imagined (hoped), agreed.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"Yarrow!" Gwen announced as she came rushing back into the room a minute later, trying desperately not to spill the water out of her bucket.

"What?"

"Yarrow. That's the herb Gaius would want us to use if we can't stop the bleeding. It stops bleeding. I remembered it." She put the bucket down by Arthur's feet and made her way back to the vials and jars. She picked up one larger, clear jar, and held it up triumphantly… Only to have her small smile fade into a frown. "Almost none left," she said. "Barely any at all."

Arthur frowned. "We'll collect more or something," he said. "Do you know what it looks like?"

"I think so," she said. "I know where to find it."

"We'll get some more after we clean out his cuts… and… the honey." As he spoke, Arthur pulled the blanket back off of Merlin. He was having trouble catching his breath. _I need to sleep, _his body informed him. _Later, _he said back. But all the same, he had to stop and take deep breaths.

"We can't today," Gwen pointed out practically, but her face twisted in worry. "It's too dark."

"First thing tomorrow, then, if the bleeding is still a problem," he said.

"Alright… Arthur, you look tired."

"I _am_ tired," he answered with a small smile. "But we have bigger problems right now." He quickly set about untying the strips of cloth around Merlin's middle, and put them away on the side table. Then he put his hand to the one covering the cut, took a deep breath, and pulled it off.

The skin stuck to it at first, but with a small ripping sound it peeled off and took the dried blood with it. Merlin's pale face twitched as he gave a small cry of protest, jerking. Fresh blood welled up from where the blanket-bandage had been.

"Disgusting," was Arthur's comment, but the lump in his throat made the word sound weak and shaky.

Gwen gave a small gasp as she took in the wound. "The boar?" she guessed.

The horror in her voice nearly did Arthur in. _This is all my fault. _"Yes," he said shortly. "Guinevere, hand me that cloth."

She dunked it in water and wrung it out, then handed the clean cloth to Arthur.

He took it and held it over the gash on Merlin's middle. "Sorry, Merlin." _Sorry that I have no idea what I'm doing. _

He wiped at the injury, trying to be gentle, and Guinevere bit her lip and handed him the bar of soap.

"I imagine this will sting," he said.

It did. Arthur ran the soap up and down the injury – wondering if he was doing this all wrong – faintly disgusted by the deepness of the cut. Merlin didn't wake up, but he still made unhappy noises. Arthur could almost imagine what he'd be saying if he was well enough to talk. _"Hey, cut that out! That hurts!"_ Or maybe he wouldn't say anything at all. Maybe he'd just sit there tight-lipped and white-faced. It was always so hard to tell with Merlin.

Arthur discarded the red-tinted soap and washed it off the cut with water, getting the soap out and washing away the blood that was still oozing from the cut. Pink water with bubbles in it spilled down Merlin's chest in a waterfall; his entire abdomen and the waistline of his trousers were soaked. Dropping the wet cloth next to the soap and the dirty bandages, Arthur grabbed up a dry cloth from near his feet and used it to dry the excess water. The blood kept coming though. (Not as fast as it had been when he first saw Merlin lying there, though—oh, no! He wouldn't think about that.)

"Honey?" said Arthur, but it sounded like a question. He was trying to keep the confusion (more like complete desperation) out of his voice; Arthur wasn't used to questioning himself… _but maybe I wasn't the best person to do this. _

"But won't it just bleed out?"

Arthur turned to face Guinevere. She was staring at Merlin, the fear apparent in her dark, dark eyes.

"We don't really have a choice. I wish we had that yarrow."

He took the honey… Now what to do with it? Should he pour it on? Around the wound? Smear it? Get a brush, or…? In the end he used his hand. Dipping his hand into the jar, Arthur drew out a gooey, golden mess. Raising his eyebrows, Arthur set about applying it. He spread the substance onto the slice, watching as it dripped down into the injury and around the edges, and for a brief moment, Arthur wondered what kinds of sadistic powers-that-be decided it would amusing to land him in this situation. He had no idea what he was doing. For heaven's sake, he could have been killing Merlin!

Arthur was a prince. He wasn't a doctor. He wasn't supposed to be without resources. He was not supposed to be standing next to one servant and tending to another, worried for his friend's life. _Politics is so easy compared to this. I'll never let Gaius leave Camelot again. _

_Bluff, _he reminded himself again. _Just like in negotiations and battles_.

"Should we just bandage it up now?" suggested Gwen nervously.

Arthur took the clean bandages and did, setting up the bandage similar to how he had last time. He doubled the layer, though, because the bleeding was faster now.

"I think the honey is keeping the honey down a bit," said Guinevere. Arthur shrugged.

"Ready to do that again?" he asked with just a touch of humor, and they repeated the process with the wound in Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin woke up this time.

_Someone up there hates me,_ Arthur decided, but on the outside he was stoic and kept going about his business.

Merlin's eyes were glazed. He didn't know what was going on… but he knew it _hurt_. "Stop!" he gasped, reaching for his shoulder with his opposite hand.

Arthur slapped his hand away and passed the soap over the wound one more time.

A strangled groan came from Merlin, and he tried to jerk away. Arthur ordered him to cease moving, but Merlin wasn't listening this time. He nearly knocked himself off the table, twisted even though the wound stretched and bled more, reached to move Arthur's hand again… "Stop, hurts," he begged.

"Guinevere!" Arthur snapped, and the brown-skinned maid came around Arthur to hold Merlin down while whispering faint words of comfort to him.

She was stronger than she looked, because Merlin couldn't shift away from her, and after a few moments, he stopped trying. Arthur rushed to wash out the soap with the wet rag, and again the bleeding came back worse than before. Merlin stopped complaining, but Arthur could see the sweat standing out on his skin. Were those tears in his eyes? Oh, gods, please say that wasn't what they were...

_I wish he wouldn't fight us, _Arthur thought as he coated on the honey, not knowing that his thoughts were mirroring Gwen's. _You'd think we were the enemy, not his friends. _Arthur was trained to deal with a lot of things. A hysterical, half-asleep Merlin was not one of them.

Merlin settled down, going back to sleep as Arthur bandaged the wound for the second time.

"What now?" asked Guinevere, and Arthur turned to look at her with a grim smile.

"I suppose now we wait until it's light enough to find the yarrow and pick it, stop the bleeding… And then do the whole thing again. And then we wait for Gaius to return."

"Oh, no."

Arthur nodded, wiping his straight blond hair out of his face with his forearm and looking back towards Merlin. "At least he's asleep."

Arthur realized his legs were shaking, and once more he leaned against the patient bed with his hands, taking deep breaths as he closed his eyes. His stomach felt collapsed, his head had begun spinning yet again. He hadn't even noticed that it had stopped.

Guinevere's warm, calloused hand was on the chainmail (he was still wearing that?) of his shoulder.

"Arthur, I think you need to sleep."

He shook his head, blinking several times and putting his head back up. "No, I can't."

"You can't go on like this for much longer. How far did you travel today anyway?" Gwen was in mother-mode as she leaned close. _She smells nice. Is that Morgana's soap?_

"Merlin needs to be watched in case something—"

"I'll watch him while you sleep. You don't even have to leave the room. You can sleep in a chair."

"I can't let you do that," he argued, leaning back. He thought he would fall down. He needed to sit.

"We'll take turns."

Arthur smiled and started to give in, but his stomach rumbled so loud that he as sure Guinevere could hear it. "No, I'd need to eat something first," he admitted.

She looked him up and down, scrutinizing him for a second. "I'll get you some food from the kitchens, if you think you can keep watch over Merlin that long without dropping off…"

"Of course I can!" he said, affronted (but not very).

"And while I'm at it, I think I'll grab you a shirt so you can change out of that chainmail shirt," she said, her voice taking on a tone of command. It sounded so natural on her, and yet so strange, that Arthur had to smile despite everything.

"Guinevere," he told her, "you're wonderful." Suddenly, he swooped down and gave her a quick, possessive kiss. But he didn't put his arms around her, because his hands were stained with Merlin's blood.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Kilgharrah had always told Merlin that he had a great destiny ahead of him. There were prophecies about him. Mordred had let Merlin know that those prophecies were well-known among the magical folk, along with the name _Emyrs. _The things Gaius said (or even the expressions on his face) let Merlin know he was so different from most magical people and creatures that he was in a category of his own. Between all that and the things Merlin had done on his own (defeating Nimueh, becoming a dragonlord, and seeing things in the Crystal, to name just a few), Merlin had begun to get the idea that he was all-powerful. Or at least the _most_ powerful of all. He had worked to make sure he didn't get a big head over that, but he couldn't help but know it. He was the most powerful.

Mostly.

There was one little thing that Merlin couldn't seem to master. It was rather concerning, actually, that he just wasn't any good at this. Surely one day, when magic had returned to Camelot, he would find someone to teach him this little thing. But until then, Merlin just had to make do with this fact:

He couldn't heal to save his life.

In the most literal way possible, it was beginning to seem. Ever since Merlin sleepily discovered that he was stuck unconscious, he'd been trying to wake up. When that seemed too hard to do, he resorted to trying his magic, only to discover once more that _he couldn't heal. _

He kept trying, worry somewhere deep inside of him. In the little part of himself that he was still aware, he realized that he was getting close to waking up occasionally, and he could tell because he could feel the pain. But since the last time he'd awoken, which was awhile ago, he couldn't propel himself out of unconsciousness.

As he got used to the darkness, Merlin got less and less concerned. Really, what was the big deal if he was sleeping anyway? It wasn't like he had any emergency to take care of at the moment. As far as he knew, anyway. And Merlin got to rest so infrequently.

So Merlin stopped worrying about it so darn much and let the little bit of him that kept thinking be snuffed out. He went to sleep.

Now, Merlin's magic wasn't exactly a living thing. It was tied up with his life-force, but it in itself was just a very important aspect of Merlin. It certainly couldn't think. It couldn't feel.

However… If Merlin's magic _could_ feel, it was a pretty safe bet to say that it would have been feeling exasperated. And tired, yes; sick and tired of its master's idiocy and ill-luck.

First, Merlin had somehow gotten injured. That still wasn't quite clear, but since Arthur was the last person that Merlin had seen, it was probably Arthur's fault. (Merlin would argue that it usually was Arthur's fault.)

Then, Merlin couldn't get up and do anything about him being hurt. His whole body felt like it was made of lead, and he couldn't move it very much in either direction except for the brief times in which he'd awoken.

And on top of it all, Merlin's body was not getting proper medical care. Infection was creeping up on him; his body could just tell. And Merlin would be hopeless at healing that.

Yes, if Merlin's magic had been alive, it would be fair to say that it had gotten fed up. Natural reaction to his body's plight… maybe that's what it was. But nonetheless there was a certain air of irritation and fond exasperation in the way Merlin's magic set about banishing the infection from his body.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

_The bow was pulled back, ready to be released. The arrow was sharp and wicked. And the prey was ready, standing there, almost asking to be shot… Merlin…_

_Merlin?_

What? No. It was a boar. A boar. Wasn't that a boar? It had tusks, didn't it? Tusks, a snout, a neckerchief, a petulant expression… Merlin?

_But that was quite wrong. Arthur should not have been shooting at Merlin. He liked Merlin. It was the boar he didn't like. But somehow he found himself smiling slightly as he pulled back the bow even more, watching the back of the arrow's head touch against the string. He was glad that he was about to shoot the prey. It didn't make any sense, but somehow he found that he was smiling as he sent the arrow whizzing towards the man who'd never been anything but loyal and helpful – and annoying, naturally – to Arthur. _

_He couldn't move, or maybe he didn't want to move, as the arrow struck Merlin. _

_Merlin fell, the boar jumped on him, and Arthur wasn't moving._

_Merlin yelled._

Yes, the scream sounded just like it had when this actually happened… Actually happened? It wasn't happening now?

_No, no it wasn't… This was just a dream._

"Sire?"

_Now Merlin was calling Arthur; he wanted his help, but Arthur couldn't help because it was his fault in the first place…_

"Arthur?"

Stop calling, Merlin; I can't help you!

"Arthur!"

Arthur woke up.

"Wha…?" He looked around groggily. He was in the physician's chambers, sitting slumped in a chair by Merlin's bedside. His chainmail was gone, and Gwen leaned over him with her hair falling in her face and her eyes locked on his.

"Arthur, are you awake?" she asked gently.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I am. What happened?" He rubbed his eyes and looked around for some sort of trouble. Merlin was sleeping deeply. Gwen had cleaned up, Arthur noticed with a pang of guilt. He'd forgotten he should do that and not wait for a servant.

"I think you were having a nightmare," she told him, speaking in a whisper, and Arthur wondered if she did that because of Merlin or because it was the middle of the night. "I didn't want to wake you up, but…" She bit her lip and turned her face away, and Arthur saw that she was embarrassed to be waking the prince up from a nightmare.

Not as embarrassed as he was to be having a nightmare, though. "Oh, right. Thank you, Guinevere." He casually reached his hand up to his eyes to run away some more sleep and was relieved to find them dry. He would have died of humiliation. He looked at Merlin. "Has he woken up?"

"No."

Arthur looked at the window. "How long until day?"

Gwen sighed and reached her hand out to take a hold of Merlin's had in a motherly gesture. She'd gotten him a pillow, probably the one from his bed. "Hours yet."

Arthur sank back into his hard chair with disappointment. "He doesn't look worse, though. That's good. I'm not tired anymore, Guinevere; I'll take a turn watching after Merlin."

Gwen seemed rather interested in Merlin's hand, even going as far as to examine his nails. And then she took a deep breath, turned to Arthur, and asked bluntly, "What happened while you were hunting?" Then, as she always did after she was blunt, she blushed.

Arthur stopped. "I told you that."

"Not exactly. That's what the nightmare was about, wasn't it?"

Sighing, Arthur sat forward and clasped his hands. He'd like to be angry, as Gwen clearly expected him to be, but he just couldn't. His voice was low as he told her the story. "We'd been following a boar. Merlin was being annoying… but, well, when _isn't_ he being annoying? I sent him to flush out the boar. I was going to wait for it to run my way, but then it started coming towards me, and I got distracted by it… and I forgot Merlin was there. I didn't mean to shoot him, Gwen. _Truly_."

Gwen closed her eyes.

"And he hit the boar when he fell, and it got angry. I killed it, but not quickly enough."

There was a moment of silence, and Arthur couldn't explain why he felt like a criminal waiting for the ax to fall on his neck. He couldn't explain why Gwen's opinion of him mattered so much.

"Oh, _Arthur_," she said at last, and then he was engulfed in a warm, soft, and comforting hug.

Arthur had never really liked being touched. But Gwen was the exception.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Gwen took another turn watching Merlin near the morning. When dawn banished night beyond the horizon, turning the sky pink, she woke Arthur to stay with Merlin, and she went to collect the yarrow.

They would probably need it if they ever wanted Merlin to heal… Before she'd left, she'd checked on Merlin. The blood was oozing through the blanket, and the bandages were just a red mess. Slowing down, but the bleeding didn't stop. Merlin was as pale as death and sleepily uneasily, muttering under his breath.

Arthur assured her that he would put on more honey and change the bandages, and so she went off alone to collect the yarrow.

She went into the woods, her cloak pulled tight about herself, her worry for Merlin pushing out anything else. That's why she didn't worry about being late for work, didn't worry about being a young woman walking alone in the woods, didn't worry about anything but her hurt friend.

Thus preoccupied, she headed for a familiar little clearing (though she hadn't been there in a year), where light cast speckled patterns on the ground through the trees, and there she recognized the yarrow she was looking for. Weedy looking, feathery leaves, small white flowers at the top.

She smiled to herself triumphantly and went after the plant. Gwen hadn't thought to bring a basket… She would just pull a plant up by the roots and carry it back to Camelot, she decided. A hopeful light in her eye, she reached for the plant with two brown hands…

An arrow sliced through the still air of the green clearing and buried itself in the trunk by Gwen's head.

She jerked up and her back straightened like a poker as she whipped around to face the attacker.

"Stupid!" a voice was chiding. "She was reaching for the plant! She wasn't looking for us!"

"How do you know that?"

Two big, muscular, and dirty men faced her. Bare swords hung at their sides – Gwen, daughter of a blacksmith, would never treat a weapon so cavalierly – and crossbows were at the ready in their large, meaty hands.

_Bandits. _

Why were there always bandits? The knights needed to be more vigilant…

She watched them warily, and at last the proper fears found their way to her brain. A woman alone in the forest with no weapon. How stupid of her. "I only want that yarrow," she told them quietly, setting her feet apart. Gwen didn't have the nature of a fighter. But she did have muscles from years of hard work.

"Chris said no one comes near here," the second bandit said, either to her or to his companion.

"She's not a knight or a guard," said the first.

"But now she knows where we are," argued the second.

"Because you shot at her!"

A bandits' hideout was nearby, Gwen guessed. Just her luck. As they spoke, the men were inching their way closer to Gwen, and she found herself stepping back.

"L-look," she stuttered, trying to get control. "I have no interest in telling anyone about you." Except maybe Arthur. "I just need that plant… My friend's life may depend on it."

They studied her for a second. Gwen's hands were fists, and she had them at the ready, but not actually out in front of her. _If they grab me, maybe I can get their swords… Or even one of their swords…_

"Chris said no one was allowed to come here and leave alive," insisted the second as he raised his crossbow and pointed it at Gwen. Her breath hitched.

The first shrugged. "You're right there," he agreed, and pointed his own bow.

Gwen felt panic blare up in her mind. _I'm in deep trouble. _

"Look," she repeated. "I just want that plant. The prince of Camelot is waiting for me to come back with it, and he knows where I am. If I don't come back…"

"What's going on?" asked a new voice, and a third, scarred, and big man stepped into the clearing. "Who's she?"

"Lying little intruder, Chris," said the second man. "Found us hiding here. We were just about to take care of her."

"What's that about the prince of Camelot?"

"Nothing," the first man told him, rolling his eyes.

Gwen began sliding her feet towards the way she'd come in the clearing. "R-really, I won't tell anyone… I just need… I… The prince…"

The second man prepared to release the bow. Gwen tensed.

_Twang!_

Gwen ducked and ran.

Arrows littered the ground and the trees around her, but she ducked around the trees and roots, almost diving for the path. She put her head down and sprinted as fast as a very scared and very healthy serving girl can.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

The door crashed open and feet pattered against the ground, and Arthur recognized Guinevere just from her running and breathing.

He didn't even look up from where his eyes were trained on Merlin and his fresh bandages and new blanket, instead just beginning to talk, filling Gwen in on what had happened since she left: "He woke up briefly while you were gone. He didn't say much, though." He spoke like he was giving a report to his father. "He had a bit of a fever, and I thought that might be a sign of infection, but I didn't see anything, and I looked well. Maybe it's the blood loss… Leon had to watch him for a while; I had to go talk to my father. Leon gave him some water and he procured some soup for him, which he kept down, but… Guinevere? Where's the yarrow?"

Arthur turned around and stared at Gwen's disheveled figure. Her hair was falling down. Her eyes were wide, her face pale behind the dark tone, and she was breathing hard.

"What happened, Gwen?" He came forward and took her shoulders in his hands.

It took just moments for Gwen to gasp out her story, staring at the floor, and when she looked up, Arthur's blue eyes were dark with rage.

"Did they hurt you?"

"No; no, they didn't get the chance."

He dropped her shoulders and turned away, staring towards Merlin's unconscious body.

"Alright then," said Arthur, walking over to his chainmail and beginning to put it on. Good thing Gwen hadn't moved it. He'd like to wear all of his armor, of course, but since Merlin couldn't help, it would take too long. His sword, still sheathed, was on the ground by his chainmail. He put that on too.

"Arthur," said Gwen in a low voice, "what are you going to do?"

For the past day, every feeling in Arthur had been negative. Guilt. Pain. Fear. Self-disgust. He didn't know what to do with those emotions, so he ignored them for the most part to do something more useful. But anger… Anger he could vent. And he could vent it productively.

"I'm going. Where was the clearing, again?"

"Arthur, you aren't going alone… There are three men!"

Arthur thought this over. "I'll take Leon, if he'll come. I'm sure he'd be glad to help." He started for the door, feeling his face harden like stone, but then Gwen was in front of him, grabbing him and stopping him.

"Arthur." She repeated his name desperately. "You aren't just going to charge in there and kill them?"

He smiled at her. It didn't reach his eyes. "Of course not. I'm going to charge and there and tell them I want the yarrow. If they don't let me take it peacefully, _then_ I'll kill them."

Gwen stepped away but wrung her hands nervously. There was no way they would let Arthur alone. They'd be too afraid of being arrested. But Arthur could defeat them; of course he could… unless they snuck up on him, or… No. No, Gwen had to trust Arthur. This would work out. She told him where the clearing was.

Arthur stopped right before the door. "Guinevere, Gaius might be back as early as tomorrow. In case…" He stopped. That sounded too pessimistic. "Watch after Merlin until then. I'll be back."

He left quickly in search of Leon, leaving Gwen feeling like she'd been punched in the stomach. _'In case…'?_ In case he died?

Arthur would win, of course, but Gwen was a natural-born worrier. She couldn't help herself.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Leon kept his hand on his sword as he stepped into the clearing in front of the prince, looking around. The prince only had on chain mail, and it made Leon nervous. He, Leon, was in full armor, since when Arthur found him he'd been preparing for the training, which he knew would carry on even if Arthur was too busy to participate today. All of the knights figured he would be. The news of Merlin's injury had spread throughout Camelot, thanks to the people who had seen Merlin when Arthur rode in. Everyone had taken a gander of Arthur then, too, and the rumors spread like wildfire. They ranged from an attack by another kingdom's men to a furious assault on the servant by Arthur himself. Sure, whispered the gossip-mongers, Arthur and Merlin seemed to like each other, but no one could deny that Merlin could be very annoying on occasion, and Arthur was known to have a temper.

Leon had to shut up one such talker himself. But still. Leon knew the prince rather well. He'd seen the look of guilt on Arthur's face when he looked at the injured Merlin. But Arthur hadn't chosen to tell Leon what happened... not exactly, anyway, and so Leon wasn't ever going to ask.

"Is that the herb Gwen wanted?" asked Leon, pointing to the feather-covered stalk.

Arthur nodded. "Yarrow." He looked around the clearing, his eye out for bandits with arrows. He stopped for a moment, his eyebrows starting to rise, and then he began to walk forward. "I'll get it," he said louder.

Arthur approached the plant slowly, with a look towards Leon that the knight recognized. The prince leaned over the plant, his eyes flickering upward—and then he was gone. Leon had blinked and missed it, but he knew that Arthur had ducked behind a tree, and he followed the prince's example when two arrows sliced through the air where Arthur had just been standing.

Back against a tree's bark, Leon turned his head to the side to take in the attackers. Three bandits. Like they had thought.

"I told you more would come if we let the girl go," growled one of the men to another as all three stepped forward.

"We didn't _let her go_," groused another. "He's behind that tree there."

Arthur's voice lifted above the two bandits. "We just want the yarrow. Then we'll leave. We didn't come to fight." Not that he would turn one down, either. Arthur could feel his muscles tensing, preparing, ready to fight and _liking_ the way it felt.

The bandit who hadn't talked yet laughed disbelievingly.

_Oh, well, it was a nice try, Sire, _thought Leon. He drew his sword and could hear Arthur doing the same. If he looked forward and strained his neck, Leon could just see Arthur pressed up against another tree. The prince made a few one-handed gestures, and Leon got the picture.

_"Get behind them."_

How? He didn't want to get shot.

Leon shrugged and slipped out from behind his tree, staying out of sight beyond the clearing. He'd sneak up behind them… and… then he'd just improvise. He could do that.

He went as quietly as he could, watching his feet to make sure they didn't step on anything loud. The bandits were still watching the trees where Arthur and supposedly Leon were hiding. Two of the bandits (the ones that talked) discarded their bows for more short-distance weapons, their swords. They slowly came forward, one on either side of Arthur's tree, planning to ambush him. The third bandit kept his arrow nocked and ready. Leon kept slowly moving behind them.

Arthur could doubtless hear them coming, but all the same, once Leon was directly behind the bandit and the two others were just about to jump Arthur, Sir Leon called out the warning, "Sire! On both sides!"

The third bandit spun around at once, nearly releasing the arrow in surprise, and Leon knocked the bow out of his hands with the knight's sword, breaking the wooden thing. The bandit pulled out his sword and threw himself at the knight. Leon parried him easily and struck back, looking at Arthur. Somehow the prince had already killed one of the bandits and was busy fending off the other.

Leon knocked a blow to this side and threw his opponent off balance, and then quickly dispatched the man with a stab to his chest. He looked back up at Arthur and noticed something moving in the woods behind the prince.

There was a fourth bandit. Arthur didn't see him; he was still fighting his attacker.

The fourth crept up behind Arthur with his blade drawn. This one didn't have a bow. That was something to be thankful for.

"Sire, behind you!"

Arthur blocked another blow from the front as he turned to avoid the strike from behind him. Leon rushed forward to engage the newcomer in battle.

When the dust settled, Arthur and Leon still stood.

"Well," said Arthur, wiping his bloodied sword on the ground to clean it. Leon did the same before sheathing his. "There's the yarrow, then."

Walking forward, he took a grip near the bottom of it and pulled it up by its roots. He turned back to Leon and smiled as though he was a child making a clever discovery, but no child Leon knew had a smile that cold or business-like.

Sometimes, the prince of Camelot was quite scary. Like when he was angry.

"Good, Sire," Leon agreed. "We should get back, then."

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Gwen looked up as a tired and bloodied but triumphant Arthur walked in with the meter tall stalk.

"They wouldn't let me just take it peacefully," he said.

She nodded and took the plant, choosing not to comment on what he'd said. "This should slow the bleeding. He's been awfully lucky to avoid infection, and this way we can keep the honey in the wounds. His fever has even gone down… All I know to do know is to just keep changing the bandages so they are fresh." She bit her lip. "I hope we're doing right."

Arthur kissed her again, and she felt herself calm down. "We're doing all we can. I'll be back soon; I'm going to wash up." It was about time he got some of the blood off of his hands anyway.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Two days later, the wounds were not bleeding. Merlin hadn't woken up for more than ten minutes at a time, but each time he opened his eyes they were dark with pain and… was that concentration? He didn't talk. He wasn't getting any better. But he wasn't getting worse. The fever came and went. Somehow there was no infection. (Arthur apologized to whatever higher power he had accused of having fun with his distress.) Merlin was watched like a hawk.

And they were out of honey, too.

And then Gaius returned.

It turned out, Arthur didn't need to explain anything to him. Gaius reported to the king the news that the outbreak was subsiding, and then, as he made his way to his chambers, Sir Leon stopped him in the halls.

Arthur was holding Merlin's head off of the bed while Gwen poured a small stream of water into Merlin's mouth when Gaius threw the door open and rushed in.

"Gaius!" yelped Gwen, dropping the cup. At least Arthur didn't drop Merlin, just put him down carefully.

"We're so glad you're here, Gaius," Gwen babbled. "We didn't know what else to do… We did our best, but there was no replacement physician…"

Gaius ignored her, placing one hand on Merlin's wrist and the other on his forehead. His lips were pressed against each other tightly, and his face was still and drawn.

"Gaius?" questioned Arthur.

The white-haired doctor looked up, his eyes worried. "I need you two to leave, Sire."

"We want to help, Gaius," argued Gwen.

"No, you've done very well while I was gone. Gwen, please fetch me more water, and then leave me alone with my patient." His all-business tone nearly broke on the word _patient_. "You can explain what has happened to him later."

That shut up any protests Arthur would have made, and he left the room after Gwen, who had gone scurrying after the water.

"Gaius," he said softly before he left, and the medical man looked up. Their eyes met. "Please heal him."

"I'll do my best."

Arthur had to look away.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"What the _hell_ is Gaius doing in there, anyway?"

One week.

One. Week. Seven days. Half a fortnight.

That's how long Gaius had remained in there with Merlin. He'd only come out to make his rounds or to go buy or gather something (though Gwen or Arthur always stopped him at the door in the latter case to insist on doing it for him). He only let patients in, or occasionally Gwen to deliver water. He let another servant in to bring him food when it was needed. Arthur usually cut that servant off to deliver it himself (forget pride), but he caught very few glimpses of Merlin, because the man had been moved to his own room.

Arthur was about to go crazy.

During the day Arthur and Gwen both had their duties. Training. Laundry. Councils. Cleaning. Paperwork. Sewing. Reporting to Arthur's father. Picking up. During the night they both had to sleep. But every single moment of free time they had was spent loitering outside Gaius's chambers in hope of some news or the chance to be helpful. They weren't the only ones, either. Leon and a few other servants kept showing up and offering to be of assistance, but Gwen and Arthur took any jobs they might have gotten with an aggression that was to be expected in the prince but that was quite alarming in the maid. Gwen would openly admit to spending a night or two standing around or dozing outside. Arthur wouldn't admit to it, and if Gwen ever tripped over his sleeping body in that hall, she never told anyone.

And now, at last, as Arthur paced before the door with his arms crossed and Gwen sat on the floor by the wall, the door opened wide and invited them in.

"He's in his room," Gaius told them when they tentatively came in. "You can only stay a few minutes. You'll tire him out."

Merlin was sitting up in his bed when they came in, and he was smiling. His top half was bare but for the bandages Gaius had expertly put on, and he was looking quite comfortable under a blanket that looked a lot like the one Arthur had torn up more than a week ago. He was still a bit pale and looked tired, but he was obviously better than he had been a week ago.

"Merlin!" squealed Gwen, eyes wet, looking like she wanted to throw her arms around him.

"You can hug me," he told her kindly. "But gently."

She did so, wiping at her eyes. "I'm so glad you're going to be okay!"

He smiled at her, and then looked up to meet Arthur's eyes. Arthur stood near the door, awkward and dry-eyed, face blank.

Merlin's smile became strained.

"Yeah," said Arthur, desperate for a joke. "You may be the worst servant I've ever had, but it would be a pain to find a new one."

Merlin nodded, accepting the jibe as the expected response to the situation, but though he grinned, he didn't look like he meant it.

"I'm hard to get rid of," he said, studying Arthur. He'd remembered what happened.

"I know," said Arthur, and cleared his throat. The tension in the room was nearly painful.

Gwen sensed it and took charge, sitting carefully on the edge of Merlin's bed as she began to chatter about what was happening around the castle. "Only a week, and you miss so much," she told Merlin a little too fast, her eyes flickering between Arthur and Merlin. The two men didn't look at her. "Amy's going to have a baby," she continued. "Joseph is _so_ excited…"

Merlin tore his eyes from Arthur and looked instead to Gwen. "I'll bet he is," he said. "I'll bet he's already coming up with names for boys."

They stayed for a minute. Arthur and Merlin barely spoke, and meanwhile Arthur could feel his heart sinking lower and lower in his chest. _He can't forgive me. _

Well, what had he expected?

When Merlin began to yawn, they excused themselves and went out to talk to Gaius.

"He was very lucky," said Gaius, "that they didn't get infected. Thank you for keeping the wounds so clean and still, Arthur. That might have saved his life. When I got here, I just had to worry about keeping the infection away and the blood he'd lost."

Arthur nodded. He remembered the blood Merlin had lost. It had flowed where he'd fallen, soaked into the shirt, dripped onto the forest floor, stained the patient bed…

"We'll be back to visit him often, Gaius," Gwen told the old man with a laugh back in her shining eyes. "When do you think he'll be well enough to walk around?"

"A few days," said Gaius, "and he'll be on his feet for short amounts of time. But it will be weeks before he's well enough to return to work full-time, Sire. And he'll need those bandages for quite a while."

Arthur nodded. "Of course. He can have all the time he needs."

Gaius looked faintly surprised.

Arthur smiled slightly.

When Gwen bid Gaius goodbye and walked towards the door, Arthur started to follow, but Gaius called him back. "Sire?"

"Yes, Gaius?" he asked, coming back, and hearing the door close, which meant Gwen was gone.

"I want to know what happened."

Arthur took a deep breath. He'd expected that. But why did he have to go through it again? He met Gaius's eyes and hoped the man couldn't read everything in them – the guilt, the nightmares, the sorrow – and told the truth.

"I shot him, Gaius. I didn't see him and I shot him. And then that boar tried to kill him before I could reach him and get rid of it."

Gaius looked tired; even his long white hair seemed to sag.

Arthur looked to the floor as he continued, "I shot him, Gaius. And I don't think he'll ever forgive me."

Not looking up to see Gaius's flabbergasted, disappointed expression, and not waiting to be corrected, Arthur left the room and shut the door behind him.

\-_-BREAK-_-/

"They were both worried," Gaius said to Merlin, standing at the door and folding his hands before his robe.

Merlin stared at the wall. "I know. They've been waiting outside all week, haven't they?"

"Mostly. And they did their best before I got here. But I can tell you, the prince is not cut out to have a job in the medical profession."

"Good thing he's a prince, then." Merlin looked at Gaius for a second, and then away again. "I scared everyone. Sorry."

"It was hardly your fault."

Merlin laughed. "I suppose not." He was too used to apologizing. "Thanks for… patching me up, Gaius."

Gaius's eyebrow twitched, but he looked like he was thinking about smiling. "I really only had to care for the blood loss and make sure there was no infection… There really should have been some."

"But there wasn't?"

"Not at all, surprisingly. Even though you had a fever."

"How do you explain that?"

Gaius shrugged and smiled. "Where you are involved, Merlin, I rarely can explain."

"You mean… magic?" Merlin looked away from the wall and back at Gaius.

"Probably."

There was a moment of silence. "Merlin, before Arthur left, he said to me…"

"I don't want to hear it." Merlin's voice became sharp. "I don't want to hear about it."

"Merlin, what happened was an accident." Gaius looked worried as he walked towards his ward and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder.

"I know," said Merlin, a little softer. "It'll all work out, Gaius. Trust me." He didn't tell Gaius, but in his mind, Merlin knew just what he wanted to happen.

"I do trust you, Merlin."

"Thank you, Gaius."

\-_-BREAK-_-/

Arthur had been into see Merlin five times now. Twice with Gwen and three times alone. They were short visits. Merlin didn't speak unless Arthur spoke first. When he did speak, his words were strained.

Usually when Arthur did something wrong, he just knew when he was forgiven. It never took long.

But Arthur hadn't been forgiven, not yet, and that hurt. A lot. He'd done so much to keep Merlin alive… But he couldn't deny that if Merlin didn't want to forgive him, he would deserve it.

Maybe it would just take time, he thought to himself. Time until Merlin was ready to say the words Arthur wanted to hear. _I forgive you for shooting me. _

Or maybe not.

An ache settled in Arthur's stomach. Perhaps the ache had already been there, actually. It just wasn't until now, when the mind-numbing fear and gut-twisting worry went away, that he actually noticed the ache.

_Merlin, please forgive me. It'll be easier to forgive myself, then. _He kept thinking that. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, because that sounded desperate.

The sixth time he went to visit Merlin, no one was there. There was no servant around. Guinevere wasn't visiting. Gaius was out. He looked around and called out a tentative hello, but when he heard nothing, he went ahead up to Merlin's room in the back.

The door opened when his knuckles hit it, so instead of knocking (which he usually didn't do anyway), he just went ahead and went in.

Merlin was on his back, sleeping, his head leaning against his pillow and his blanket pulled up. His hands were outstretched, hanging over the edge of the bed. His hair was in disarray, his mouth was open, and Arthur felt the sudden urge to laugh. They said people looked younger when they slept. Merlin did, but he also looked slightly goofy. But then, Merlin always looked slightly goofy.

Smiling, Arthur turned. He would come back later. As he reached for the door, he stepped on a floorboard that let out a complaining _crrrreeeeeeeeeeeak. _

An intake of breath from the bed. "Arthur?"

Arthur turned around to see Merlin blinking at him blearily, sitting up.

"I didn't know you were such a light sleeper," said Arthur almost apologetically.

Merlin rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I think I was waking up anyway."

"How are you?"

"Fine."

There was an awkward silence. "I… I just came to see how you were. You look… better."

"Thank you, Sire. I feel a bit better."

Merlin didn't seem to feel how tense the atmosphere was. He just stared at Arthur in a way almost… challenging. Arthur thought about looking away, but frankly, he was rather tired of being ashamed.

"I'm glad about that," he brazened on. "I worked pretty hard to keep you alive, after all."

"How kind of you." That was sarcasm, or Arthur would eat his no-longer-shined boots.

"Well, I try."

"I'm sure."

Arthur's face twisted a bit. "You're… pretty friendly today." Two could use sarcasm.

"I could just be in pain."

Arthur felt rather like yelling. He glared at Merlin. "What do you want from me, Merlin?"

Merlin smiled in confusion. "Me? You're the one who came in! I don't want anything."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. You can't even look at me without glaring at me now, _Mer_lin, and I know what I did to you… But if you… if you hate me, and you can't forgive me, why don't you just say so, and I'll leave you alone? I've already apologized, what else can I do?" Arthur stopped himself and bit his cheek, looking away. This wasn't Merlin's fault; he had no right to be yelling at him. _No yelling at the invalid._

"No, you haven't."

"What?" Arthur's eyes darted back to Merlin.

"You haven't apologized," Merlin clarified.

"I haven't?"

"No, you haven't."

Arthur paused and then threw his pride to the wind. Might as well. He'd already embarrassed himself. "I'm sorry, then. I'm sorry I shot you. It was an accident, but I should have been more careful, and it was my fault."

"I forgive you."

"_What?_" Arthur stared at him incredulously. Merlin was smiling now, and there was real warmth in it. His eyes danced like only Merlin's cheery blue eyes could do.

Merlin had already forgiven Arthur. Of course he had; almost as soon as he'd awoken he'd forgiven him for what happened. It was hardly the worst thing that Arthur had ever accidentally done to him. But Merlin couldn't help thinking to himself that, really, a bit of humility wouldn't be too bad for his master.

Not the nicest thing Merlin had ever done, but he found that he just didn't care.

"I said, I forgive you, Arthur."

There was a moment where neither talked. Arthur blinked and Merlin smiled so brightly that the sun couldn't compete.

"Oh…" said Arthur. "Okay, then. Thank you. I guess." The ache evaporated. Arthur suddenly felt like forgiving himself for what had happened wouldn't be such an impossible task.

"But… Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Don't do it again, if you please."

Arthur grinned, but answered solemnly, "I can promise you that."

Merlin laughed, and suddenly everything was all right in the world.

"Hey," Merlin cried, sitting up straighter in bed. "Did you ever get that boar?"

"I killed it, alright, but I left it there."

"Along with my only spare shirt?"

"Yeah, around there. I didn't really care enough to drag the animal along."

"Shame to have wasted the hunt, though," Merlin ruminated, and Arthur chuckled. "I suppose you'll drag me along on another one soon because of that."

Nodding at Merlin and reaching for the door, Arthur bid him goodbye. "Well, you need to rest up, Merlin. Tomorrow, bright and early, I expect you back at work. My chambers are a mess, my armor is dull, my stables—"

"What?" Merlin's eyes widened in horror. "Tomorrow? You're joking!"

Arthur grinned crookedly at him. "Of course I'm joking, _Mer_lin. Go to sleep."

As Arthur pushed the door open and left the room with his step lighter than before, the sound of Merlin's relieved laughter followed him down the stairs, and Arthur joined in with some relieved laughter of his own.

_**END!**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh. My. Gosh. SO LONG! Thank you for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed the story! Please review my hard work and tell me what you thought, and for those **_**Bonanza**_** fans out there, how did I do at Merlinifying the episode **_**My Brother's Keeper**_**? **

**By the way, if you'd vote on the poll on my profile, that would be nice :) Love you all, **_**Merlin**_** fans! (Sorry, Bradley James moment.)**


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